


Something Tragic About You

by Spork_in_the_Road



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Lovers To Enemies, Mild Angst, Post-Hogwarts AU, and the promise of REVENGE, but for real I am furious on Hermione's behalf in this one, except there's still magic and they went to Hogwarts together, look I know I always say that Tom is a dick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2020-08-13 11:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20173432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spork_in_the_Road/pseuds/Spork_in_the_Road
Summary: “Tom,” she said again, more insistent this time. “What am I doing here?”“I don’t go by that name anymore.”He still hadn’t looked up, but she could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers gripped the edge of the desk too tight. She had always been able to see through his too-carefully crafted mask, and now was no different.---Two months after graduating Hogwarts, Tom Riddle left England (and Hermione) without so much as a note goodbye. Now, three years later, he's back: working as the Undersecretary to the Minister and gathering a following as Lord Voldemort in secret. Hermione had moved on, made her peace (so she thought), but now that she's being drawn back into Tom's orbit, she's not content to let bygones be bygones. There's a fine line, after all, between love and hate.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quitethesardonic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quitethesardonic/gifts).
**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Hermione meet again after 3 years.
> 
> Tom, later to his minions: Gentlemen, I've just secured our key to success.  
*meanwhile*  
Hermione: *starts making a conspiracy board in her closet*

“Tom.”

He wasn’t looking at her. Why wasn’t he looking at her? The dark-haired man simply stood behind his desk, staring down at some unknown document. She took the opportunity to watch him, to catalogue how the man before her was different from the boy she’d known. He’d not changed much, physically at least. There was something sharp about him now, something that had previously been hidden, but which had been chiseled into existence.

She hated it.

“Tom,” she said again, more insistent this time. “What am I doing here?”

“I don’t go by that name anymore.”

He still hadn’t looked up, but she could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers gripped the edge of the desk too tight. She had always been able to see through his too-carefully crafted mask, and now was no different. But she didn’t care about his name. Not anymore.

“What am I doing here?”

She’d been followed for a week straight by Abraxas Malfoy and Radolphus Lestrange. Both of the men had apparently been deluded enough to think they were doing a good job at not being seen, but in truth, the only reason Hermione hadn’t instantly alerted the aurors that she was being stalked was because she knew they’d been close with Tom.

Tom who had been her greatest competition in school. Tom who had tied with her in nearly every class. Tom who had danced with her at Slughorn’s party, who had snogged her breathless in the astronomy tower underneath the light of the moon. They’d been inseparable. Everyone thought they’d get married. Even Hermione.

And then Tom disappeared just two months after graduation. No letter explaining where he’d gone, no hint that he’d be leaving. She’d tried to get ahold of his school friends, but if they’d known where he went, they sure as hell hadn’t told her. Now, three years later, just when Hermione was finally starting to be happy again—just when she was finally figuring out how to live a life that Tom Riddle wasn’t a part of—he had to show up.

She was three seconds away from blasting everything in this thrice-damned office into the abyss.

“I have need of competent people,” Tom said, finally glancing up from his paperwork. He eyed her impassively, one brow raised. “Obviously you qualify.”

Hermione stared at him, hand twitching at her side. All the anger she thought she was over came rushing back to the surface. She ached to raze him to the ground. He’d left her behind as if she meant nothing to him. He looked at her now like they were strangers, like this was a job interview, like they’d never been as close as any two people could be.

There was a part of her that wanted to scream, “I loved you once. Doesn’t that mean something?”

Another part whispered, _I never stopped._

She ignored them both. This was Tom, no matter what he called himself now. She knew him. She would never break him with sentiment. She would never be able to beat him in a direct fight. And they could never go back to how things used to be; she could see that now.

But he was arrogant. He was proud. And if he believed that Hermione was still in love with him enough to forgive him, to want to work with him again…well, who was she to pass up such a perfect opportunity.

“And just what do you need these competent people for?” Hermione asked.

His lips curled into a smile so disingenuous it made Hermione sick. “For change. The Ministry is corrupt. You know it. I know it. All of Britain knows it. But they won’t do anything to fix it. I will.”

He stepped closer to her, eyes alight. He was still so handsome, he was almost painful to look at. Hermione could almost remember what it was like to wake up to his arm slung around her waist, eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks, breath warm on the back of her neck. She didn’t want to remember; she wanted to wipe the memory from her brain, and only the risk of accidentally damaging her mind permanently had kept her from obliviating it straight from her head.

“I want you to be on the right side of things,” he said, voice low. “My side.”

She looked up at him, meeting his eyes straight on. “I’m always on your side. You know that.”

She wasn’t sure what hurt more: that there was still a spindly thread of truth attached to her words, or the triumphant, haughty tilt of his lips, the look of utter satisfaction that felt so much like a slap to the face. _He’s using you_, her inner voice said. _Maybe he’s always been using you._

It didn’t matter now; it only made it easier for her to do what she was going to do.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered, low so only she could hear. Her face burned, a memory resurfacing of him saying those exact words, only huskier, his own face flushed from exertion. She tried to banish the thought. She wasn’t his anymore; he would realize that soon enough.

He smirked and twisted his wand between his fingers. “Welcome, Hermione, to the Death Eaters. You will address me as your lord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big oof. This one was super fun to write and I hope you like it! Thanks to quitethesardonic for the prompt--y'all should go check out their work because it's super good. 
> 
> Fuel my writing with your comments/kudos if you want--no pressure, of course, but I do love to hear from you all!
> 
> Also, come send me prompts on tumblr at officialsporkintheroad or just come hang out on my dumpster-fire of a blog :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione gets some validation from her friends. Ginny is scary as hell. Tom's fucked but he's too arrogant to realize it.

“So,” Ginny said at brunch on Sunday, stirring her mimosa a shade too casually with a neon pink straw. “Riddle’s back.”

Hermione sighed. Brunch was supposed to be _intentional friend time_, or something like that since they were all out of school now and no longer spent all day, every day together. Mostly, it was an excuse to day-drink and gossip and had occasionally been a trap for quarter-life-crisis interventions.

Like when Tom disappeared on Hermione right after graduation and she’d spent the next six weeks looking for any information on where he might have gone and why. The tipping point had been when she cornered Draco Malfoy in Flourish & Blotts and threatened to break his nose a second time if he didn’t tell her what he knew right then and there.

This had led to _The Intervention,_ capitalized. Because even after that lapse in control and dignity, Hermione had believed her only mistake was not going after Abraxas instead since he had been closer to Tom.

(“Am I crazy?” Hermione had asked Harry one night about a week after _The Intervention_, when she’d moved past the ‘denial’ stage of grief and straight into eating pints of butter-pecan ice cream in her pajamas. “I feel fucking crazy.”

“You’re not,” Harry said, wrapping his arms around her. She leaned into it, resting her head against his shoulder tiredly, having already cried herself into numbness. “You might need a shower though.”

That had set them both off into a giggle fit for a few moments. But when it quieted again—

“Sometimes,” Hermione had whispered. “Sometimes I think I must have imagined it. I keep going over all my memories, wondering if I read too much into it, if I wanted him to care more than he did, or—”

“No,” Harry cut her off, squeezing tighter as if that could hold her together. “No. Don’t do that to yourself. Riddle was mad about you; anyone could see it. We all thought—fuck. I mean, Slughorn was practically planning your wedding. You didn’t imagine it Hermione.”)

_The point_ was that Hermione should have fucking known this was going to come up. The wizarding community in the UK was small. Nothing stayed a secret for long.

Harry’s fork clattered to his plate.

“He’s _what_?” Ron said, instantly outraged. “What gives him the _fucking right_—” 

“I know.”

The table stilled as everyone turned to look at her, their faces a mix of disbelief and caution and concern all at once. She took a deep breath.

“I…I saw him.” She didn’t think telling them he’d had her followed by his lackeys would go over well. “We talked. Briefly.”

“Oh honey.” Ginny’s voice was quiet and soft and pitying in a way that grated.

Three years ago, Hermione would have deserved that pity because she had been an utter disaster then, little more than the wreckage left behind in the wake of Tom’s storm. But since then she’d built a life for herself. She had her own flat with nice furniture that matched and a view overlooking the Thames. She had a job as an Unspeakable that she loved (because after her interview at the Department for Magical Creatures where she’d originally wanted to work, she’d realized bureaucracy was going to make real change impossible there).

She didn’t even hole up in her flat or spend too many hours at work like they’d all worried over. Her responsibility to feed Crookshanks made sure she always came home at a reasonable hour, and then there was dinner at the Burrow on Wednesdays and Sunday brunch with her friends, and going to watch Ginny’s quidditch matches when they were nearby. Once a month, Hermione had tea with McGonagall, and she kept up a regular correspondence with Viktor.

She even went to muggle yoga classes sometimes, for fuck’s sake. She had a life, hobbies, friends. So what if she wasn’t seeing someone, turning down dates when she was asked? She’d never been one to go out of her way to make time for people. Everyone who was in her life had forced their way in and made a home there.

“How was it?” Harry asked eventually, gentle.

“Is he still alive?” Ron asked much less tactfully.

_For now_, she thought, some of that anger rising back up to the surface. She shoved it down. If she thought too much about how Tom had talked to her—the smug, arrogant, unfeeling bastard—she was going to light the table on fire by accident.

“It was civil,” she said shortly. “He’s accepted a position at the Ministry, so we may see each other around.”

_And he’s asked me to join his secret cult_, she didn’t say.

They eyed her warily anyway, and she was sick of it.

“Alright, what?” she asked, throwing her hands up. “I know you’ve all got something to say, so out with it.”

Harry—his Gryffindor courage would be the death of him—spoke first.

“We’re just concerned,” he said slowly, choosing his words with care. “When Riddle disappeared, it was…”

_Awful. Catastrophic. Devastating. Terrifying to see you like that, Hermione_. Any of those would have worked.

Instead, Harry shook his head. Regrouped.

“The way he hurt you—” Harry reached across the small table to grip her hands, bright green eyes meeting hers fiercely “—is unforgivable. And seeing him again must have been difficult. We just want to make sure you’re okay, and that you know we’ve got your back.”

It was a nice sentiment, the kind that got tears prickling at the corner of her eyes.

“I’ve been doing a lot of flying over the countryside lately,” Ginny said. “Lots of places to hide a body. Or we could just _reducto_ him until there’s nothing left.”

“_Ginny_,” Hermione chastised with a swat, though it was more out of habit than anything else. Besides, what she was aiming for would be worse in a way.

One day, when Tom Riddle hit rock bottom—when all his delusions of grandeur were ripped out from underneath him, his ambitions crushed, his presumed infallibility disproven—he would look up and find that Hermione had been the one to put him there.

(“_Nice_,” a sixth-year Tom Riddle had once told her, all but sneering the word, “is useless. It’s a boring word for boring people who have nothing else going for them.”

It had been a relief because Hermione had never been particularly _nice_. She was always the smart girl, the know-it-all. Clever and bossy and competitive.

Vengeful.

_I like that you’re not nice_, is what he’d really been saying.

She would make him regret that.)

“I have no intention of forgiving Tom,” she said, and some of the tension left the table. “But I’m an adult. I can be civil to my ex since we work in the same building.”

“He doesn’t bloody deserve it,” Ron said, one more token grumble before the conversation moved on.

Hermione wasn’t stupid. She knew that the smart thing would be to do as she’d told her friends: be polite to Riddle in a professional capacity and have nothing else to do with him at all. Move on. Occupy the life she’d built for herself and leave Tom Riddle in the past where he belonged.

Release the hurt and the heartache and the confusion. Stop letting the memories of him taint her life.

God, if he had never come back to England, she would’ve let it go.

Too late for that now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello most beloved readers. So this was originally a one-shot drabble from tumblr and I thought I was #done with it, but lo and behold....I was inspired to add another chapter. Currently, I do plan on adding a few more chapters--not necessarily making this into a whole Story in terms of having a full-out plot or anything like that, but more like doing some snapshots within this AU: Tom & Hermione encountering each other at work, having some arguments/fights, the ~sexual tension~, some Death Eater meetings, Hermione getting some revenge, etc.  
I don't have the time to flesh this out into a full on 50k+ story, but I just love this concept and a vengeful Hermione. Just wanted to let you know where this fic is headed. 
> 
> ANYWAY--please comment/kudos if you enjoyed. And you can find me on tumblr at officialsporkintheroad

**Author's Note:**

> Big oof. This one was super fun to write and I hope you like it! Thanks to quitethesardonic for the prompt--y'all should go check out their work because it's super good. 
> 
> Fuel my writing with your comments/kudos if you want--no pressure, of course, but I do love to hear from you all <3
> 
> Also, come send me prompts on tumblr at officialsporkintheroad or just come hang out on my dumpster-fire of a blog :)


End file.
